


The Last Lines

by ikuzonos



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, NDRV3 Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 19:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: [Major Endgame NDRV3 Spoilers]and all she saw when she gazed into the endless skies was regret from that manipulation.-Saihara gets a Christmas present from Kaede.





	The Last Lines

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by @idaate! I'm sad.

The warmth of the apartment building is wonderful at first, but then causes his numb skin to burn. Saihara stamps his snow covered boots and tugs the scarf Himiko knit him off his face.

His heartbeat settles in his chest, as does his breathing. Back in control of himself, Saihara shuffles through the lobby to the staircase on the far end of the room. It's a long climb up the seven flights, but the pain that it causes his chest and legs is worth it, if it means that he'll finally be strong someday.

He doesn't work out anymore, rather, he can't bring himself to, but he figures that the gruelling journey up on the way home from work is enough.

Saihara reaches his floor and stops to take a breather. His heart is leaping around in his chest like a frog, making it hard for him to walk. After a moment of leaning against the wall, he makes his way to the third door on the right.

He fumbles in the pockets of his jacket for the key, when his gloved finger brushes something else. A long, thin plastic cylinder.

He stops. Saihara’s heart pushes against the back of his throat, threatening to rise up into his mouth, but he quells the feeling by snatching his key.

It's been nearly a year since the fallout, since _Dangan Ronpa_ ended, and it's finally starting to hurt a little less. Saihara unlocks the door and rushes inside before he can scream.

As he yanks out his key and shuts the door, he hears Maki and Himiko shifting apart behind him. He pretends that he doesn't know exactly what's going on with them - especially because he figures they're hiding it for a reason - and busies himself with removing his jacket and boots.

When he looks up at them, they're on opposite sides of the room, pointedly not looking at each other. Saihara sighs quietly. Neither of them are particularly good at being subtle, and even if they were, he's walked into the living room and seen Himiko sitting on Maki’s lap enough times to fill a novel.

Still, Saihara’s glad that they're able to find some form of mutual comfort with each other. Unfortunately, he's still too caught up with a multitude of ghosts to even think about moving on.

“Hi,” he says, realizing that he hasn't made a sound since he arrived, “How are you two?”

Maki grunts at the same time that Himiko says, “Fine. How was work?”

Saihara hangs his jacket up on the coat hanger, “Oh, you know. Same old, same old.”

Of course, neither of them have a clue what he means by that, but he's never thought that divulging the details of his dead end job at a company he hates would be beneficial to anyone.

Any work is good, though. And Saihara would still rather starve than live off of the monthly relief cheques that Team _Dangan Ronpa_ continues to send the three of them.

“Do we have anything to eat?” Saihara asks, walking into the small kitchen area. There's dishes filling the sink and sprawling into the counter again. He stares at them for a moment, then decides to leave them. Maybe the three of them will finally wash everything tonight.

Maki's head doesn't move from the magazine she's pretending to read, “There's some leftover udon from last night in the fridge. Otherwise… Well, I'll be going shopping tomorrow.”

Saihara opens the door to examine the barren fridge and says, “I see. Good call.”

“Whatever,” Maki mutters, her voice sounding like it’s going to snap right in half.

Saihara takes the udon out, kicking the fridge door closed, and puts it in the microwave that sits above their dusty stove. Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, he opens the door again and lifts the steaming hot container out, gingerly placing it on the counter. Some of the broth sloshes over the side, running onto the granite.

He leans against the counter and sips the broth, occasionally chewing on the remaining noodles. He supposes that Himiko ate most of them earlier- the other night, she had brought up that she really enjoyed their texture.

It’s good that she’s eating well, especially because Maki isn’t. Saihara can’t recall the last time he saw the dark haired girl consume anything, but he doesn’t have the heart to press the issue.

Himiko doesn’t say anything to her either, so it’s really just another thing that they don’t talk about.

They don’t talk about _Dangan Ronpa,_ or the team that put them in the killing game, or even about the three people who haunt their nightmares the most. They don't talk about Saihara’s obsession with razor blades, or Himiko’s stash of prescription pills, and they don't talk about Maki’s refusal to eat.

He supposes that it's all a method of punishing themselves for surviving.

All of a sudden, he doesn't feel hungry anymore. Saihara places the udon back in the fridge for Himiko to finish, and chucks his spoon into the sink, where it clatters against the amalgamation of dishes.

Nobody says anything when Saihara heads for his bedroom, but out of the corner of his eye, he spots Himiko leaping off of the ancient rocking chair she was perched in, so that she can cuddle with Maki on the sofa.

-

His watch ticks past three in the morning. Saihara slumps on the edge of the tub, running his fingers over the fibreglass, and feeling as if a stone was lodged in his throat.

He stares at his stitched up wrist, at the veins that still pulse beneath his skin. His already shaky breath wavers and his spare hand twitches.

There’s a blade under the false bottom of the medicine cabinet. If he strikes at the correct arteries, he’ll die for sure. Saihara’s heart rate elevates as he jerks his gaze away from his wrist, towards the source of some potential relief.

As he stands, the cylinder in his pocket shifts, and he stops, tears welling in his eyes. He reaches and closes his fist around it, squeezing it tight.

He can’t kill himself, if only because he knows that Kaede would be disappointed in him if he did.

-

“Hey, Saihara-kun?”

Saihara turns his head to face Kaede, her face partially obscured by his hat. She beams at him, though her smile seems less genuine than before.

Pre-trial nerves. Nothing more.

She presses a solid plastic cylinder into his hand, “This is for you. Don’t lose it, okay? It’s really important, and I can’t get you another one.”

Saihara stares at it, “What is it?”

“It’s a present for you,” she says, “It’ll open automatically at the right time… when we all get out of here as friends. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Saihara slips it into his pocket, “O-Okay, I’ll look after it. Thank you, Akamatsu-san.”

Kaede says, “You’re welcome. And, um, Saihara-kun? I’m really glad that I met you. You’re an important person in my life, I know, even though we haven’t known each other long.”

Saihara tugs his cap down, “I… I feel the same way. Thank you for everything.”

“You too,” she murmurs, a sudden distance in her eyes.

A detective, a good one, would recognize the dissonance between her words and the tremble in her voice, would see the anxiety as more than just nerves.

Above all, a detective should know when people are lying.

But Saihara doesn’t realize anything at all, and instead grips her hand tight as they descend the elevator to the trial room together, blissfully unaware that only one of them will ride back up.

-

He doesn’t have work this morning, so Saihara curls up under a blanket on the sofa with his headphones in, listening to sad songs that he can’t understand the lyrics of. All the while, he surfs the web, writing and reading words that don’t matter.

Halfway down a page of furaffinity, Himiko leaps onto the couch next to him and prods his face.

“Hey… Hey, Saihara,” she says, leaning against him, “What are you buying me for Christmas?”

Saihara replies, “I’ve… never celebrated Christmas. Plus, wasn’t your birthday last week?”

Himiko shrugs, “So? My birthday and Christmas aren’t the same date. So… what are you getting me? And Haruma... Harukawa too?”

Saihara pretends not to notice her slip and says, “Well, I suppose that if it’s for Harukawa-san as well, I can make an exception.”

Himiko sticks out her tongue, “I was gonna buy you something! But now you’re making me reconsider.”

Saihara ruffles her hair kindly. She attempts to pout, but finds herself unable to keep a straight face, and starts giggling.

Minutes after, Maki kicks their front door open, and the two jump to their feet to help her bring in the groceries that only one of them will eat.

-

Admittedly, Saihara had never been to a toy store, especially not one that specializes in stuffed animals, but he ends up with a headache after being inside for a minute.

He's here with Maki to find something suitable for Himiko’s present. Saihara already picked up something for Maki - namely, a shoulder strap that doubles as a knife carrier - so this is where the true challenge begins.

“Are you going to ask about custom gifts, or am I?” Maki asks, snapping Saihara out of his trance.

Saihara bites his lip and glances at the nearby worker, “Which one of us is less recognizable, do you think?”

They're both bundled in casual winter apparel, but the traces of their television personas are still there. All of them have had their identities figured out in public before, and with heavier disguises.

Maki hums, “Probably… me. Since I cut my hair and all too.”

Saihara doesn't say anything, so Maki puts on a sickly sweet smile that doesn't fit her in the slightest, and spins on her heels to talk to the employee.

He keeps his hands in his pockets, looking the shelves up and down, and nods to himself. Himiko mentioned that pretending to know what you’re doing helps improve confidence, and he needs all of what he can get.

Maki strides back a moment after, standing close enough to brush against his coat, “If we want to customize one of their plushes, we’ll have to talk to someone in their Kyoto branch on the phone.”

“I can’t do that,” Saihara replies, “You know I can’t.”

Maki says, “None of us can. It’s fine, we’ll just have to hope that Hi- Yumeno’s ideal gift is here on the shelves.”

“Okay,” Saihara says quietly, not looking at her.

“You’re angry,” she observes, “Or at least, upset.”

Saihara lifts a plush seal off the shelf, “I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t press the issue.”

Maki stares at him for a long time, “Okay. Put that one back. She’d want something else.”

Four and a half hours later, they leave with a white tiger plush.

-

From his bedside table, Saihara’s watch ticks endlessly. It's Christmas Eve, or perhaps, actually Christmas, if midnight passed and he didn't realize.

Outside, snow is dusting his windowsill, while he's lying flat on his back, staring up at the ugly spackle ceiling and having trouble breathing.

He should be in a good mood. When morning comes, they're all going to sit in the living room in front of the tree that Maki definitely did not steal from the park, and pass around presents. It's picturesque, it shouldn't put him on the verge of tears.

His sheets are bundled up tight in his fists.

He rolls onto his side, facing the dark expanse of his room, when a blue light flashes from his desk.

Saihara sits up instantly, squinting as he worms his way out from under the duvet, and over to his swivel chair.

The black cylinder that he had been holding all this time had opened.

His heart thumps faster, slamming against his rib cage. Saihara shakily reaches out and picks it up. If he squints, he can see a button labelled ‘Play.’

He hesitates. He doesn't have a clue what this thing is. But at the same time, Kaede pressed it into his hand a mere hour before she died. And even though she betrayed him, traumatized him more deeply than he could ever admit to someone that wasn't the ornamental plant in their kitchen, Saihara would still trust her with his life.

Even if she was only fiction.

Saihara hits the button.

A speaker crackles to life, and for a moment, all Saihara hears is nervous breathing. Then, a single knife slash reopens all his old wounds.

“Hey, Saihara-kun,” Kaede says, “If you're listening to this now, then I must be dead. It's okay, I knew it was coming. From the first second that I put my plan to kill the mastermind into action, I've been prepared to die.”

Saihara’s jaw falls open ever so slightly.

Kaede continues, “But you weren't prepared, were you? I'm… really sorry that things had to end like this.”

Saihara can't bring himself to look away from the tiny speaker. It feels like a stone is lodged in his windpipe.

“Maybe what I'm saying doesn't matter,” Kaede goes on, “I really hope that we were able to stop the mastermind… This is just for the worst case scenario. And well… Even if I do die here, I have faith in you. You'll find a way to end this game. And maybe you'll find a way to be yourself someday.”

Saihara’s eyes burn. He bites on his lip, piercing the skin, and salty blood travels into his mouth.

Kaede says, “It should be Christmas, now. I don't know if you celebrate it, but I do. So, how about a song? As a gift for everything you've done for me.”

Something in the background shifts. Then, the beautiful sound of the piano in Kaede’s lab flows out the speakers. It sounds a little like Clair de Lune, but it has its own twist to it. Figures that she would put her own spin on even the important classics.

When she finishes it, there's another pause. Kaede sniffs loudly, and when she speaks, her voice sounds broken.

“Thank you for everything, Saihara-kun. I'm sorry that this was all I could leave you with.”

The cylinder clicks, and the audio tape ends.

Saihara’s lingering teardrops hit the desk.

“It wasn't your fault,” he whispers, as he holds his head in his hands.

-

In the ten AM light, the three of them sit on the carpet by the tree.

Saihara unwraps a hand knit sweater from Himiko, and a cookbook from Maki. He pulls the former over his head and watches as Himiko squeals in delight at the sight of her tiger cub, then leans over to lay a kiss on Maki’s cheek.

The dark haired girl appears to be overjoyed with her gifts, or as overjoyed as Maki could ever be, and pulls Himiko close to her.

Saihara watches from an artificial distance, still caught up in the thoughts of a girl who left him with only trauma, and a five minute audio tape of her voice.


End file.
